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NEW DELHI — Here’s what the monsoon season looks like in
India. This summer, the northern states have been lashed with rain. In the
northeastern state of Assam, July rains swamped thousands of homes, killing 65
residents. Floods and mudslides in northeast India sent nearly 6 million people
heading for the hills in search of temporary housing (a tarp, a corrugated
roof) and government aid (when they can get it). In New Delhi, the monsoon hasn’t
caused anything nearly as traumatic. But one cloudburst can easily flood roads
and storm canals, sending bubbling streams of grease and sewage across the
urban slums.

Haven’t heard about all this? Normally, I wouldn't have
either. But this semester I’m living in New Delhi, near one of those storm
canals, working as a Fulbright-Nehru Research Scholar affiliated with India’s
Centre for Policy Research. My plan is to examine the ways in which Indians are
adapting to climate change, at the national, regional, and local levels.

Perhaps no country in the world is as vulnerable on so many
fronts to climate change as India. With 7,000 kilometers of coastline, the vast
Himalayan glaciers, and nearly 70 million hectares of forests, India is
especially vulnerable to a climate trending toward warmer temperatures, erratic
precipitation, higher seas, and swifter storms. Then there are India’s enormous
cities (home to nearly a third of the population), where all of these trends
conspire to threaten public health and safety on a grand scale—portending heat
waves, drought, thicker smog layers, coastal storms, and blown-out sewer
systems.

Those floods I mentioned earlier are typical of India’s
monsoon season—data for this season, in fact, show a monsoon with slightly less
total precipitation than normal. But the floods demonstrate the kinds of
extreme events that if multiplied in the future will bring even more risk to a
fragile country. According to a recent report issued by India’s Ministry of
Environment and Forestry, current projections indicate “a 3% to 7% overall
increase in all-India summer monsoon rainfall in the 2030’s with respect to the
1970’s.” In contrast, during the winter
and pre-summer “dry” season, most regions “are likely to have lower rainfalls.”
Such a “barbell effect”—a more extreme wet season joined to a more extreme dry
season—could mean trouble for India’s growing cities and struggling rural
farmers.

India’s public and private sectors have begun developing
adaptation strategies, although most are at the beginning stages. With prodding
from the national government, some states are now developing vulnerability
assessments and setting priorities. International non-profits like the
Rockefeller Foundation are joining with local governments and citizens’
organizations to find better ways to control storm water, irrigate crops, and
improve health against the backdrop of a changing climate. Manufacturers,
insurance companies, and banks are also examining ways to adapt. This has led
to an array of discussions about how public or private initiatives should be
used to build resilience in the Indian communities, to make them
“climate-ready.” Some of these ideas are particular to India, but many of them
will be tested here and exported to the rest of the world, including the United
States.

Should rural farmers in India be encouraged to protect
against monsoon vagaries by investing in a legalized “weather derivatives”
market, like some American hedge funds do? Is there a way that India’s
expansive Public Trust Doctrine (inspired by American case law) could be used
to protect threatened assets like coastal wetlands and groundwater supplies? Am
I nuts to think that a megacity like New Delhi—home to 16 million people, 11
million vehicles, nearly half a million stray dogs, and scores of loitering
cows—can coalesce into an environmentally sensible and climate resilient city
of the future? Over the coming months, I’ll take on some of these subjects in
this blog. I’ll talk with local experts, visit project sites, and venture an
assessment or two. As for now, the afternoon thunder is rattling my office
window, and I need to find my rubber sandals.